


Fake (Date) It Til You Make It

by Blizzard_Fire



Series: Brucemas 2020 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruce Banner is a little shit, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, M/M, OR IS IT, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizzard_Fire/pseuds/Blizzard_Fire
Summary: ‘Hey Doc,’ Clint said one morning, strolling into the lab, ‘Can you date me?’Bruce frowned up at him. ‘Why?’‘To fuck with Tony, mainly.'Bruce and Clint start fake-dating to mess with the others. But then it becomes a question of how long they can keep this up, and maybe their “dates” aren’t quite so platonic anymore…
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Clint Barton
Series: Brucemas 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020373
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89
Collections: Brucemas 2020





	Fake (Date) It Til You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> Brucemas 2020 Day 4: Bruce/Clint
> 
> Hulkeye is one of my favourite Bruce ships because of its chaotic and comedy potential – you may notice that Clint often worms his way into fics I write that aren't even about him! In true chaotic fashion, this fic includes all 11 Brucemas prompts! I’ll list them in the endnotes if you want to see how many you can spot ;)
> 
> TW: Christmas drunkenness, and some fade-to-black drunk sex

‘Hey Doc,’ Clint said one morning, strolling into the lab, ‘Can you date me?’

Bruce didn’t look up from the microscope. ‘Late twenties, maybe early thirties.’

‘Ha ha. I’m twenty-nine. And you know that’s not what I meant.’ In the corner of Bruce's eye, he saw Clint pick up a bottle of hydrochloric acid and read the label like it was the back of a cereal box. He often came by the lab with some pointless hypothetical question like “zombies or pirates?” and Bruce usually humoured him until he got bored and left.

When Bruce didn’t say anything else, Clint put the bottle down and hopped up onto the desk next to him, swinging his legs. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

It was going to be one of those days. Bruce just wanted to spend his Saturday studying his colony of cultivated bacteria, was that too much to ask? He sighed. ‘Are we talking hypothetically, or…?’

‘No, I need you to _date_ me. Just for a couple hours. Like, tell everyone we’ve secretly been together for months and how in love we are and stuff.’

Finally, Bruce tore his gaze away and frowned up at him. ‘Why?’

‘To fuck with Tony, mainly.’ In his plaid shirt and ripped jeans, Clint was always gracefully dishevelled when not in his mission clothes. ‘I just want to see his face. See how long it takes him to figure it out.’

The Avengers had only moved into the tower a month ago, so they probably hadn’t realised that one of Bruce's favourite pastimes was fucking with people. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he asked, ‘What would that involve, exactly?’

Clint shrugged. ‘I dunno, a convincing story, some hand-holding maybe. Kiss on the cheek if you really wanna commit to it. I know you can be a sneaky motherfucker when you want to be. I watched you convince Tony you didn’t know what _Star Wars_ was.’

That had been fun. Tony had argued about it for nearly fifteen minutes, until Natasha had casually leaned over and asked Bruce what his favourite _Star Wars_ movie was and Bruce had calmly answered with _Empire Strikes Back_. Tony had gone berserk.

Clint was watching him with mischief in his eyes. ‘Come on babe, you know you wanna.’

Bruce found himself smiling. ‘Sure. Let’s do it.’

Clint knew he’d picked the right man for the job when Bruce walked in at lunchtime and immediately sat next to him on the couch, glancing at him meaningfully. They all sat around with boxes of noodles and the usual banter commenced. Mostly Tony and Steve pigtail-pulling, with Natasha throwing in barbed comments whilst Thor watched the whole thing with a fond smile.

But when they’d finished, Bruce cleared his throat meaningfully. ‘I think Clint has something he wants to tell you.’

All eyes turned to him. ‘Watcha got, birdbrain?’ asked Tony, picking broccoli out of the bottom of his box.

‘Well, uh…’ Clint made a show of looking awkward, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Tony. ‘Yeah, okay. Bruce and I are dating.’

They were met with stunned silence.

‘You’re kidding,’ said Natasha.

Bruce's hands fidgeted in his lap. ‘We didn’t want to make a big deal of it,’ he said, with a shy smile at Clint.

‘You’re _not_ kidding,’ said Steve. ‘When did that happen?’

Clint opened his mouth, but Bruce got there first. ‘Remember Tony’s birthday party, about two weeks after we all moved in?’

Clint remembered; it had been a shitshow. The media had flooded in, trying to interview the now-famous Avengers. Bruce had looked a little green so Clint had steered him out of there. In reality, they’d both retired to their separate rooms, but the media had enjoyed speculating the “true” nature of their hasty exit.

‘Hold on,’ said Tony, ‘I call bullshit. You’re both shit-stirring bastards, and I haven’t exactly seen you getting cosy in the Quinjet.’

‘Are you saying that I can’t be subtle?’ said Clint.

Thor waved a dismissive hand. ‘Have you consummated your love? Or is it too early yet?’

Steve choked on his drink.

Bruce didn’t even blush, but a lovely mischievous smile appeared on his face. ‘What do you think we’ve been doing in the lab?’

Clint grinned as there was a chorus of groans followed by Tony’s horrified, ‘I’ve _slept_ on that couch!’

As everyone talked at once, Clint took Bruce's hand and brought it to his lips. There was a flash of gleeful amusement in Bruce's eyes.

They kept it up until everyone left. Clint had been holding Bruce's hand for so long that it didn’t even feel weird anymore. ‘That was hilarious. Do you think they bought it?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Bruce quirked an eyebrow. ‘How long do you think we can keep this up?’

Clint’s mouth dropped open. ‘You sir, are an evil genius.’

To Bruce's surprise, it was easy to pretend-date Clint. He came by the lab most days anyway, but now they spent afternoons coming up with sickly pet names and in-jokes.

‘It needs to be something convincing,’ Clint was saying. ‘I can’t just call you sugar plum, that’s not my style.’ They were sat on the lab couch, drinking the milkshakes Clint had brought.

‘What about something with “green”?’ Bruce suggested.

‘Well, you got green machine, green bean… or what about stuff that’s green? Broccoli, cabbage, kale…’ He slurped noisily on his straw, then his eyes lit up. ‘I got it.’ He turned to Bruce and rested a hand on his shoulder, looking dreamily into his eyes. ‘My little Brussels sprout.’

Bruce groaned. ‘That’s awful.’

‘And that’s why it’s _good!_ I can call you Brussel for short. Or Sprout because, well, you’re short.’

‘I’m not short,’ he said indignantly. Clint just smirked at him. ‘Hmph.’ He took a long sip of strawberry milkshake, letting Clint stew for a minute. ‘Fine. Let’s do it.’

For the next two weeks, Bruce and Clint played their roles perfectly. Their conversations were peppered with flirty endearments and double entendres. Clint was thrilled to find Bruce a worthy verbal opponent, always ready with a witty response. However, it was clear that the others were getting suspicious.

‘Tony’s still not buying it,’ said Bruce one morning as they rode the elevator up to the gym. Team training day, Clint’s least favourite day of the week.

‘Yeah, Nat's not convinced either.’ Clint watched him take a swig from his water bottle and heard himself say, ‘Wanna step it up a little?’

Bruce's eyes darted back to him. He swallowed. ‘What did you have in mind?’

The doors opened. ‘Hey lovebirds, you’re late,’ Natasha called, with a hint of sarcasm.

‘Perhaps they were busy doing other things,’ said Thor with a wink.

Steve cleared his throat. ‘Alright, now that everyone’s here, sparring practice. Everyone pair up.’

They all took turns sparring in different pairs. Clint’s heart wasn’t really in it today; he was too busy thinking up ways they could further fool the others. What did they have to do to convince Tony and Natasha?

Finally, Clint was paired with Bruce. ‘Think you can keep up with me, babe?’ Clint said with a wink.

‘That’s not what you said last night,’ Bruce replied, lowering into a fighting stance. By now they’d both worked up a sweat, and Bruce's fringe was sticking to his forehead. Clint very deliberately checked him out. For a guy who spent half his life in a lab he was surprisingly limber. Probably from all that yoga.

‘Like what you see?’ Bruce asked wryly.

‘Guys,’ Steve called nearby, ‘focus please.’

‘Not my fault he’s so distracting!’ Clint complained.

Bruce leapt at him. Clint dodged nimbly aside but Bruce kept up the offence, landing minor blows on his shoulders and hips. But when he’d recovered, Clint responded in kind. He had the advantage of years of SHIELD training, and before long Bruce was slowly backing away to avoid his hits.

And just because he could, Clint ended it by grabbing him in a hold and pulling him in close. ‘I win,’ he murmured. They were almost nose-to-nose, both breathing hard. The combined scent of their sweat was intoxicating.

Bruce kissed him.

Clint froze. His eyes fluttered closed of their own accord at the feeling of soft lips pressed against his own. Someone wolf-whistled from across the gym.

They broke apart, and Bruce whirled and pushed him to the floor in an effortless pin. ‘ _I_ win,’ he said with a shit-eating grin Clint had never seen before. ‘You shouldn’t let your guard down, Agent.’

‘Y- yeah.’ Clint was very aware that Bruce was straddling him, but he was too shocked to do anything but lie there. Even when Steve called for everyone to swap pairs, and Bruce climbed off and moved away with nothing but a wink, he continued lying on the cold gym floor in a daze.

Steve offered him a hand. ‘You up for another round?’

He nodded and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. ‘Do your worst, Cap.’

But Steve only moved his hand to Clint’s shoulder and met his eyes sincerely. ‘I just want to say that I’m happy for you both, and I’m glad that you were comfortable enough to tell us about your relationship.’

‘Uh yeah, me too.’ He glanced over at Bruce, who was already putting Tony through his paces as if nothing had happened.

‘And I know that I’m not yet up-to-speed with all the terms and labels, but I just want you to know that I support you. Anyone who doesn’t can go through me first.’

Clint blinked back at him. ‘That’s very… noble of you.’ He felt uncomfortably like a kid being given “the talk”. ‘Please can you just hit me?’

The rest of the afternoon passed as normal. When Bruce left, Clint hurried to catch the elevator with him. ‘So,’ said Clint. ‘The kiss… was that planned?’

Bruce laughed shyly, rolling his empty water bottle between his hands. ‘Not really, but you mentioned stepping things up so… I’m sorry, was it too much?’

‘No, it was fine. I admire your dedication to the role.’ He winked. ‘If you’re up for it, we can _really_ make it awkward for the others.’

Bruce's answering smile was all the response he needed.

Bruce had initially worried he’d gone too far with the kiss, but Clint hadn’t seemed to mind at all. In fact, it was he who suggested they keep it up when the other Avengers were around. Bruce quickly grew accustomed to arms around his waist when he was making breakfast or a quick peck on the cheek whenever Tony was nearby. It was fun to overdo it with the cheesy nicknames (the first time Clint called him Sprout, Natasha pretended to throw up in her oatmeal) but it also felt like a nice change to “Banner” or “Doctor” or “Bruce”.

To help the illusion along, they started going on “dates” and eating lunch together in the lab. Weeks had passed now, but there never seemed a good enough excuse to end it. Tony still seemed to suspect some long-running joke, though he stopped voicing his suspicions.

They got creative with it. Clint borrowed one of Bruce's shirts and “accidentally” wore it to a SHIELD meeting. If they were late for something, they were always late together. Occasionally they made out in communal areas. It was all strictly platonic, of course.

But as time went on, it became less of a prank on the others and more of a game with each other. Specifically, a game of dating “chicken”.

Clint must have read Bruce's SHIELD file, because he was always careful with physical boundaries. He telegraphed his movements, reaching up slowly to touch Bruce's cheek or ruffle his hair. Sometimes Bruce felt a little spike of nervousness, but every time he found himself leaning into the touch happily. He wondered if Clint suspected just how touch-starved he was.

Bruce knew that this game would come to an end eventually. But he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

Clint strode into the lab, tapped Bruce on the shoulder and showed him his phone. ‘We’re trending.’

Bruce was elbows-deep in a vat of unspeakable dark green liquid, but he leaned over to peer at it. ‘What’s a Hulkeye?’

‘Well, the paparazzi spotted us on one of our “dates” and I guess we played the part too well because it went viral.’ Even to Clint, they looked very cosy in the photo as they hung out on a bench in Central Park, practically in each others’ laps. ‘And then they may have gotten hold of Steve at the last press meeting…’

He played the video and Steve’s voice boomed out of the phone speaker: _‘Yes, I can confirm that Barton and Banner are in a relationship, but that isn’t relevant to the matter at hand here. I’m proud to work alongside them. The Avengers don’t discriminate against anyone and neither do I, no matter how “old-fashioned” I may be, and I will not be taking any further questions on the subject.’_

Clint watched Bruce's expression shift from amusement to pleased surprise to something approaching guilt. ‘Do you think we’re uh…’ He bit his lip. ‘Did we go too far with this?’

Honestly? Clint wasn’t sure anymore. He’d almost forgotten that they’d started this to mess with the others, and nowadays he just enjoyed Bruce's closeness and casual touches. ‘Nah,’ he said lightly. ‘It’s unfortunate that the media got hold of it but hey, _#LGBTQAvengers_ is also trending so maybe we did something good?’

Bruce winced. ‘Yeah. But you realise that if we tell the public it was just a joke, it could backfire on us?’

‘Ouch. Yeah. But we’re both bi, we didn’t fake _that_.’ He’d read Bruce's file. ‘We can let this die down then stage a break-up. No biggie.’

‘Mmm.’ Bruce stared into his vat with exaggerated concentration. Clint thought he almost looked disappointed.

‘Until then, you’re stuck with your sexy, loving boyfriend.’ Jokingly, he curled his arms around Bruce's waist and rested his forehead between his shoulder blades. Bruce was slightly bent over the vat, which made the position more sexual than he’d intended.

‘Sexy, huh?’ Bruce turned his head to side-eye him. ‘I don’t remember that being part of the description.’

‘C’mon Brussel, you know you lurrve me.’ And he reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Bruce’s glasses fell into the chemical vat.

‘Aw, it’s fine babe, you don’t need to see.’

With a sigh, Bruce withdrew his hands and turned to face him. ‘You contaminated my sample.’

Clint stuck out his tongue. ‘You’re hot when you talk dirty.’

For a moment, Bruce just stared back at him in exasperation. Then there was a devious glint in his eye as he advanced towards him, hands outstretched and covered in green gunk. ‘Come here. Let me give you a hug.’

Laughing, Clint sprinted out of the lab.

Bruce woke up on cold, hard ground, feeling like death. The stench of smoke stung his nose, and even the feeble autumn sun seemed too bright. He got up on shaky limbs and surveyed his damaged surroundings. The aliens had attacked swiftly, and he’d been forced to change just as one was about to bite his head off. He shuddered. Fast transformations were always worse.

He walked through deserted streets in bare feet and the remains of his pants, feeling utterly miserable. One day it would be nice to not wake up alone and wonder how many people had died because of him.

A blurred figure in the distance was running towards him. Bruce squinted, but he already knew who it was. He’d recognise Clint’s fluid, dancer-like run anywhere.

‘Hey man,’ said Clint with a cheeriness that jarred with their surroundings. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

For a moment, Bruce nearly burst into tears. Hulk-outs always left him with strong mood swings. ‘Did I hurt anyone?’ he asked shakily.

‘Only some bad guys.’ He came to a stop in front of him and handed him a bundle of material. ‘You okay?’

It was a navy blue SHIELD hoodie. Bruce pulled it on and felt a little warmer. ‘Been better,’ he said, wincing at a sudden wave of dizziness.

‘You’d better take these too. I put an extra pair in my quiver.’ Clint tried to give Bruce the glasses, but Bruce’s hands were shaking too much to hold them. ‘Wow, you’re not looking too good. Here.’ And he steadied Bruce's head with a finger under his chin and slipped his glasses on. Clint’s tender expression came into sharp relief. He was dirt-smeared, bruised and bloodied, but he still smiled when Bruce blinked back at him. ‘See? I’m even more handsome in high definition.’

Bruce's lip trembled and he lurched forward to grab him in a clumsy hug. ‘Glad you’re okay,’ he said gruffly.

‘Hey, you know me. Can’t get rid of me.’ Clint hugged him back. ‘Man, you’re cold.’ His earpiece hissed with static. ‘Hey guys, can we get a ride home? Bruce isn’t looking so good.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bruce mumbled against Clint’s shoulder, then his legs gave way from under him and the world tipped sideways and went dark.

Bruce woke up in his own bed, in his pyjamas and beneath two layers of blankets. He stared up at the ceiling in puzzlement. ‘D’I miss the debrief?’ he mumbled.

There was movement in the corner of the room. Clint looked over from the chair he’d dragged in. ‘How are you feeling?’

Dizzy, tired, a little drunk. ‘About average for a Hulk-out,’ he said truthfully, rubbing his eyes. It was dark outside the window. ‘What are you doing here?’

Clint shrugged, his expression too blurry to decipher. ‘We thought it best to keep an eye on you. And Steve insisted I stay with you.’

‘Oh.’ He felt strangely guilty. ‘Well, thanks but you don’t need to. I’m fine, really.’ In truth, he hated being alone after a battle but Clint wasn’t his boyfriend and it wasn’t his job to look after him.

But Clint didn’t move from the chair. ‘It’s cool. I got to miss the debrief for once. And uh…’ He scratched his head and looked away. ‘I don’t sleep much these days anyway.’

Bruce sat up, arms trembling with the effort. ‘Why not?’

He waved a hand. ‘Y’know. Bad dreams. I don’t like to mention it because Thor gets touchy if you mention his asshole brother.’

Of course. During their first adventure, Clint had spent most of that time possessed. To know that you’d hurt others against your will, had no control over your actions… Bruce knew what that felt like.

He patted the bed beside him. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Okay.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I get them too. Especially on these nights.’ He was oversharing and he knew it, but he also wasn’t inhibited enough to stop. ‘I wake up and I’m convinced I’ve killed everyone. He could take anyone he wanted and I’d have to live with the guilt of it.’

There was a long silence, then Clint sighed. ‘Alright, scooch up. I’m not leaving you like this.’

Bruce scooched, and Clint got into bed beside him, keeping a respectable distance away. ‘You don’t have to,’ Bruce said sleepily, even as he felt himself relaxing in his presence.

‘Hey, what kind of a boyfriend would I be if I left you right now? You’re not in a good headspace. Plus Hulk saved my ass, so I figure I owe you one. Get some sleep, Doc.’

Bruce found himself drifting off almost instantly. He felt so much safer with Clint beside him. And he suspected that Clint liked it too; someone to watch over to distract from his own fears.

They woke up the next morning with limbs tangled together, Clint drooling on Bruce's shoulder and Bruce's arm slung around his waist.

They never mentioned it afterwards, but both seemed to feel the effects of a good night’s sleep. Every now and then, Clint would knock on Bruce's door late at night and ask to sit with him, and Bruce would always invite him into bed. Eventually Clint stopped needing to ask.

Clint wasn’t sure how it happened, but every morning he woke up in Bruce's bed, brushed his teeth with the toothbrush that stayed in Bruce's bathroom, and went down to eat breakfast with him. To an outsider, they were opposites in nearly every way. But that also meant they complemented each other; like how Bruce was an amazing cook and Clint would eat dog biscuits if left unattended for too long. However, when Bruce was post-Hulk their roles were reversed and Clint was forced to fend for them both. Usually, it ended with the kitchen on fire and a large order of takeout.

Today, Clint had made the mistake of leaving post-Hulk Bruce unsupervised for two minutes.

‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, ruffling Bruce's curly hair.

Bruce pointed at an empty yoghurt pot and spoon on the table. ‘Just one of those chocolate mousse things. My tongue’s still numb though so I couldn’t really taste it.’

‘Aww.’ He leant down and kissed him on the lips, then recoiled. ‘Why do you taste like…’ He picked up the pot and sniffed it. ‘Babe, this is a pot of barbeque sauce. You _ate a pot of barbeque sauce.’_

Bruce just shrugged.

He sighed. ‘Let me get you some soup or something.’

It didn’t occur to him until later that he’d kissed Bruce when the others weren’t around. Shit. There was such a thing as getting _too_ in-character.

They needed to call this off.

Every day Bruce considered putting his foot down and telling Clint that this was it, they’d gone too far. But then every day he woke up to Clint curled up in his bed with sleep-mussed hair and it took all of his willpower not to kiss the sleepy smile off his face. He hadn’t felt this comfortable with another person in years, and it was the physical closeness he’d missed the most.

He'd planned on ending it, but then it was Bruce's birthday and it seemed like spoiling the mood after Tony arranged a candlelit date – apparently he’d finally accepted that it wasn’t all just an act.

Then Christmas came around and it was too good an opportunity to pass up on cringey matching Christmas sweaters (Clint wore the red “I’m on the naughty list” and Bruce wore the green “I’m on the nice list”).

The tower had been bedecked in tasteful gold and red tinsel, but Clint offset this with some strategically-placed cut-outs of Nicholas Cage’s face when Tony wasn’t looking (and made a paper Nicholas Cage angel). Bruce had never been one to celebrate Christmas but seeing everyone coming together gave him a feeling of warmth. Natasha and Clint duelled with candy canes, Thor insisted on showing them Christmas movies, Tony installed metal reindeer antlers on his Iron Man suits, Steve unleashed his inner baker and Bruce “helped” with the taste-testing.

On Christmas Eve, everyone sat around drinking spiced wine (Thor’s recipe) and even Bruce found himself getting tipsy. Clint had an arm around Bruce’s waist, absentmindedly stroking his hip. It was all for show of course, but as the evening went on Bruce’s focus narrowed to where Clint’s warm leg was pressed up against his, and privately wished the hand on his hip would drift a little lower.

When the clock hit midnight, everyone cheered.

‘Best Christmas ever,’ said Tony, reclining on the couch with his feet in Steve’s lap. ‘Calling it.’

Steve grinned. ‘Well, it’s certainly the best one I’ve had in seventy years.’

‘It’s not so bad, I guess,’ Clint said with a wink at Bruce. He’d grown more relaxed over the last few hours, laughing more easily at Tony’s jokes – and peppering Bruce with playful nicknames. ‘What about you, Beansprout?’

It wasn’t fair. Bruce knew better than to want something he couldn’t have, but here he was practically in Clint’s lap and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. ‘I… what did you say?’

Natasha smirked. ‘Do you boys need some privacy?’

Clint showed her the finger. ‘I asked if you’re having a good Christmas.’

‘Oh. Yeah, great.’ As the others resumed their conversation, he added more quietly, ‘Could be better, though.’

‘Babe,’ said Clint softly, ‘I’m all ears.’

Steve stood up. ‘Who’s up for a Christmas movie? I heard _Miracle on 34th Street_ is a classic, I only missed it by a couple years…’

Tony groaned. ‘How about something that came out this century?’

In the end it came down to a vote. Steve, Natasha, Bruce and Thor voted in favour (mostly to spite Tony), and so JARVIS turned down the lights and played the movie.

In the dark, it was so easy for Bruce to innocently rest a hand on Clint’s thigh. Clint stiffened for a moment, then the hand on Bruce's hip moved down a little, his thumb brushing under the hem of Bruce's shirt.

They sat there for half an hour, but later Bruce would be unable to recall a single plot point; all his attention was focused on Clint. As Bruce dared to move his hand slightly higher, Clint turned his head as if to kiss him, but then he bent his head to trail his lips down Bruce's neck.

Bruce shivered at the warmth of his breath. It had been so, so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he could feel the months of self-denial and frustration stripping away the last of his self-control.

So when Clint whispered, ‘You wanna get out of here?’, he nodded curtly and stood up so fast he nearly tripped over his own legs.

‘Come on, it’s not _that_ bad!’ Steve protested.

‘Night fellas,’ said Natasha pointedly. The others waved.

So much for subtle.

The corridor was strung with tinsel and fairy lights, creating an atmosphere that was far too romantic as they marched down it, side-by-side, not looking at each other. Then they were in the elevator and Bruce wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now.

That was when he spotted the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. ‘Hey. Look.’

Clint looked, and laughed. ‘I didn’t put that there, promise.’

Bruce took a bold step towards him. ‘Sorry, it’s tradition. Five hundred Christmases of bad luck if you don’t.’

‘That’s a lot of Christmases,’ Clint said seriously, wrapping an arm around his waist.

All their other kisses had been for show: calculated for optimal effect. Even their “making out” sessions were pretty tame. But this…

Bruce found himself pressed up against the wall as Clint kissed the breath out of him, hands drifting down to cup his ass.

‘Shit, your hands are cold,’ Clint gasped as Bruce wound a hand under his sweater, feeling his muscles tighten. Clint wasn’t crazily muscular like Thor or Steve but he was wiry, built for agility rather than strength. Whilst they both knew that Bruce could break out of anywhere, it was nice to pretend that he couldn’t wriggle away from the warm body pressed up against his own.

Bruce scrabbled at the elevator buttons before giving up and uttering, ‘My floor, JARVIS.’

 _‘Certainly,’_ said JARVIS, with the faintest hint of smugness.

When the doors opened, they stumbled into Bruce's apartment still pawing at each other and practically fell onto the bed. Bruce was only too happy to take off his awful green sweater. Then he pulled Clint down on top of him and things suddenly got a lot more interesting.

‘You sure about this?’ Clint murmured against his neck.

‘Yes. God, yes. Please.’ Bruce shivered as Clint’s teeth scraped his collarbone. If this “relationship” was destined to end as a prank, he could at least have this. After so many months of playing a part, Bruce didn’t know what was real anymore.

A muscular thigh pressed up between his legs and he groaned, clutching a handful of Clint’s sweater –

‘Why are you still wearing this?’ He tried to pull the sweater over Clint’s head, but there were too many limbs in the way.

‘It’s fine, leave it on.’ Meanwhile Clint had made fast work of the rest of Bruce's clothes and was occupied with covering him in bite marks, smirking at the obvious effect it was having on him.

‘It’s the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.’ But at least it was something to hang onto. Up close, Clint was intoxicating. To finally be able to touch him like he sometimes let himself imagine, alone in the shower…

‘I gotta ask,’ said Clint, ‘do you have any big green triggers I should know about?’

‘No. I used to think there were, but… no. I’m good.’ Better than good, actually. Clint had been impatient and fumbling up until now, but now he slowed down, kissing his way down Bruce's body like they had all the time in the world. He bit gently at the inside of Bruce's thigh, and chuckled warmly against his skin at the resulting twitch of his arousal.

‘You taste so good,’ Clint whispered. ‘God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long…’

It took a moment for that sentence to register in Bruce's sluggish brain. ‘Really? How long?’ But Clint’s mouth was suddenly occupied, and thinking seemed a huge effort. ‘Shit Clint… it’s been a while, I don’t know how long I can…’

Clint surfaced briefly. ‘Babe, I’ve got this. Don’t overthink it, okay?’

Bruce's last coherent thought as Clint got to work was that he’d never look at ugly Christmas sweaters the same way again.

He awoke slowly, all heavy limbs and swirling head. Bruce stared blankly at the ceiling, blinking in the harsh morning light. He remembered Christmas Eve with the Avengers, something about a movie and a lot of spiced wine. And then…

Bruce looked groggily to the side. Clint was snuggled up against him as usual, naked apart from his stupid red sweater. Wait, why was he naked? And more importantly, why was _Bruce_ naked?

Oh.

Oh _shit._

Bruce hid his face in his hands as snippets of last night came back to him. The mistletoe, the elevator, the bed…

There was no coming back from this. And Bruce didn’t even get to remember the first sex he’d had in thirteen years.

Clint stirred, and the arms around him tightened. ‘Mornin,’ he mumbled into his shoulder. Then he stiffened. ‘Oh – oh god…’ His eyes snapped open and he stared at Bruce with a panicked look that might have been comical if it weren’t for the circumstances. ‘I got too drunk, I’m so sorry. Fuck. _Fuck_.’ He scrambled out of bed, swiping his socks off the floor.

Bruce watched him sadly. He’d known this arrangement would have to end, but not like this. Never like this.

‘We need to stop this, this whole… _thing_ we’ve been doing.’ Clint didn’t look at him as he paced up and down the bedroom, looking for the rest of his clothes. ‘I don’t know, we got in too deep and I started thinking maybe it was real, and goddam it I’m an agent, I don’t do the whole “catching feelings” thing…’

Bruce stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

Clint just shook his head, scowling at the floor. ‘Have you seen my underwear?’

‘Clint.’ Bruce stood up, remembered he was naked, and grabbed the duvet to wrap around himself.

‘What, Bruce? I messed up, I know. Gimme five minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.’ His eyes were wary as Bruce came closer.

‘Maybe I don’t want you out of my hair,’ he said softly.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Then Clint frowned. ‘What are you talking about? Did you not hear me?’

‘Heard you perfectly.’ It was hard to with a dry mouth. Or maybe it was just nerves. ‘I think… I think we might be on the same page here.’ Suddenly, everything made sense. Clint’s constant thoughtful gestures, their casual physical intimacy even without others in the room… somewhere along the way it had stopped being an act.

When Bruce laughed, Clint looked puzzled. ‘You’ve lost me here, Doc. What do you mean, “the same page”? Are you saying…?’

A weight had lifted off Bruce's chest and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. He reached for Clint’s arm, tracing circles into the cheap wool. ‘We’ve been sharing a bedroom for months. You literally have a drawer of your things here. We leave each other cute messages on the refrigerator – ‘

‘Only a few times! Well, okay. More than a few times.’ Clint chewed on his lip. ‘And okay, but just because we use the same shampoo, and make out sometimes, and wake up spooning every now and then…’

It wasn’t very often that Bruce saw Clint look completely stunned, but now he had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen and his jaw go slack. ‘Wait. Bruce, are we – have we been dating for months and just never realised?’

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. All the tension he’d been holding for so long had disippated and it left him giddy. Then Clint was laughing too and before long they were clutching each other to keep from falling over.

‘How did we miss that?’ Bruce gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.

‘Because we’re two ginormous idiots – oh my god, we pranked ourselves! For months! What do we even do now?’

‘We could start with a kiss,’ he suggested hopefully.

‘Uh-uh. My mouth tastes like a rat’s ass. Let me brush my teeth first.’ As Clint hurried towards the bathroom, he stood on the corner of Bruce's duvet-robe and it fell to the floor.

‘You’ve seen it all before,’ Bruce assured him, trying and failing not to blush.

Clint grinned. ‘Hey, I see the sunrise every day. Doesn’t mean I don’t like looking at it.’

He groaned. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Get used to it, Gammabutt,’ he chirped as he padded into the bathroom. ‘You haven’t even seen me at my grossest yet.’

As Bruce stood there grinning at empty air, slightly hungover and as naked as the day he was born, Clint reappeared around the door with a toothbrush in his mouth. ‘Hey, bring that body and that sweet morning breath over here.’

‘Merry Christmas to you too,’ Bruce huffed as he complied, his heart fluttering at the realisation that he could have this every morning and neither of them had to hide anymore.

Clint agreed with Tony: this was definitely the best Christmas ever.

After a long, hot shower and a re-enactment of last night (he finally found his underwear hanging from the ceiling light), they headed down to the communal living room where the others were opening presents.

‘And what time do you call this?’ asked Tony with a raised eyebrow as they sauntered in.

Clint knew it was obvious what they'd been doing and he didn't even care. Amazing what a few aspirin and a quick fuck could do for one's mood.

Thor nodded from the other side of the room, Santa hat on his head. 'They both look rather victorious. Perhaps they killed a bilgesnipe.' He winked. Maybe that was an Asgardian innuendo.

Clint ruffled Bruce's damp hair. ‘Wouldn’t be Christmas without a Brussels sprout, would it?’ They’d switched sweaters; it was Bruce's turn to wear the red “I’m naughty” sweater after Clint declared it well-earned.

'"Smug" is the word I'd use,' said Natasha. To Clint's delight, everyone had donned Christmas sweaters and Steve was even wearing reindeer antlers. 'Stop teasing them,' Steve said, looking up from his half-opened present. 'We're all very happy for you both.'

Bruce sat down by the tree, crossing his legs. 'So are we.'

'Funny story,' said Clint, sitting next to him, 'We only got together to prank Tony.'

Tony scoffed. 'Uh huh, sure. Totally believe you.'

Steve finished unwrapping a stack of books. 'Thanks, Nat. Uh, Harry Potter?'

Natasha smiled kindly. 'They're really popular and an easy read. I'm just helping Tony train you up on pop culture.'

Bruce looked up. 'Is Harry Potter the author or the series?'

Everyone went quiet. Even Natasha raised an eyebrow.

Tony laughed. 'Nice try, Banner. You can't fool me twice.'

Bruce frowned. 'Forgive me for not knowing every book in existence.'

Thor said, 'The story of the boy wizard in the school of magic?'

'See! Even _Thor_ knows what Harry Potter is! Come on, Bruce!'

He shrugged. 'Reading a children's book wasn't high on my list of priorities when I went on the run.'

At that, Natasha looked up. 'What year was that?'

'2003.'

Tony grabbed his phone. 'What year did the first book come out? You're doing the Star Wars thing again. You made a Ravenclaw joke the other day! Wait, that _was_ you, wasn't it?'

'Nah man, that was me,' said Clint, who had no idea what Ravenclaw was. 'Stop picking on my boyfriend.' He wrapped an arm around Bruce and was pleased to see his eyes light up.

'You're welcome to borrow them, Bruce,' said Steve in an attempt to defuse the situation.

Natasha pulled off Steve's reindeer antlers and placed them on her own head. 'I didn't think you were a nerd, Stark. What do you fans call yourselves, Potheads?'

'Potterheads,' Tony corrected, then looked embarrassed. 'Bruce... back me up. My fellow Ravenclaw. You laughed when I called you Lupin that one time! Am I going nuts here?'

But Bruce just shrugged and leaned over to kiss Clint's cheek. Before he moved away, he whispered, 'Think I can beat fifteen minutes?'

Clint was perfectly aware that Bruce owned two copies of the Harry Potter series, one in English and one in Portuguese. ‘I’ll start timing,' he murmured back.

'Conspiring!' Tony accused.

Clint laughed and pulled Bruce in for another kiss, just because he could. And another. And another, until Steve pointedly cleared his throat.

'Ah,' said Thor, 'you have made our dear Captain blush.'

Clint looked up innocently. 'Do we make people uncomfortable?' he asked, knowing full well he that they'd been making out in communal areas for months to do just that.

Bruce appeared to be thinking the same thing. 'Never had a complaint before.'

As Bruce leaned over to kiss Clint again and the others groaned good-naturedly, Clint was certain of one thing: this was definitely the best prank he'd ever pulled.

Everyone settled down and the conversation was forgotten for a while… until Bruce opened his gift from Clint.

'If it's rude, don't show Steve,' Natasha warned when Bruce laughed. 'He's a senior citizen, remember.'

Clint rested his chin on Bruce's shoulder. 'Something for your collection, babe.'

'Books?' said Thor.

Bruce held them up. It was a set of Harry Potter books... in Latin.

Tony groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘You got me again! I _knew_ you’d read the books already!'

The room dissolved into laughter, apologetic shrugs and several cries of 'I knew it!'

In all the chaos, Bruce took Clint's hand. 'Seven minutes. Still not bad.'

'We'll think up something good for next time,' Clint promised, his heart melting at the happy smile on Bruce's face. It was good to see him look so content.

As he watched, Bruce's smile turned mischievous. 'I have a few ideas...’

**Author's Note:**

> The 11 Brucemas prompts are:  
> 1\. Glasses  
> 2\. Green  
> 3\. Lab  
> 4\. Mistletoe  
> 5\. Gamma  
> 6\. Birthday  
> 7\. “Did I hurt anyone?”  
> 8\. Hugs  
> 9\. Breakfast  
> 10\. “For science”  
> 11\. Date night


End file.
